Scenario:Through the Darkest Corridors
There’s a moment, right before everything falls apart, when you
almost sense it coming. A shift in the air. A silence too heavy. A
feeling in your gut that whispers, This is where it begins.
I’ve walked through many doors in my life—some I opened
willingly, some I was shoved through, and others collapsed
behind me, trapping me inside. But nothing prepares you for the
ones that lead into darkness. The ones where you can’t turn back,
only stumble forward, hoping there’s something—anything—
waiting on the other side.
Grief doesn’t come with instructions. Neither does betrayal. You
just wake up one day, and the world isn’t what it was yesterday.
Someone you love is gone. Someone you trusted isn’t who you
thought they were. Something inside you cracks, and you don’t
know if it will ever fully mend.
The first time I understood real loss, I wasn’t ready. No one ever
is. Death has a way of making everything else feel small, like a
wave that swallows the shore, erasing all the footprints that came
before it. I tried to hold on, tried to understand, but grief doesn’t
give you time to prepare. It drags you under, and suddenly, you’re
in the dark, feeling your way through corridors you never wanted
to walk.
And the worst part? No one can walk them for you.
I learned quickly that people don’t know what to say when you’re
drowning. Some offer empty words. Some disappear altogether.
And a rare few sit with you in the dark, even when they don’t
understand it themselves. But in the end, it’s just you and the
weight of it all, searching for a way through.
This is where my journey through hell began. Not with fire and
brimstone, but with silence. With absence. With a door that
closed and a road I never wanted to take.
But once you step into the darkness, there’s no going back. You
just keep moving, even when you can’t see where the hell you’re
headed.
Echoes of Those Who Left Too Soon
Grief doesn’t leave. It lingers. It clings to the walls of your mind,
whispering in the quiet moments, slipping into your dreams,
turning the most ordinary things into ghosts. A song. A scent. A
laugh you swore you heard, even though you know it’s impossible.
The dead don’t speak, but their absence is louder than any voice
I’ve ever known.
There are people who should still be here. People whose stories
weren’t supposed to end when they did. But life doesn’t give a
damn about what should be. It takes when it wants, without
reason, without warning, leaving you standing in the wreckage,
trying to make sense of something senseless.
I still hear them. Not in some supernatural way—no, nothing that
comforting. Just in the little things. The way a phrase escapes my
mouth, and I realize I sound just like them. The way I reach for my
phone before remembering there’s no one left to answer. The way
their name feels like broken glass in my throat when I try to say it
out loud.
People tell you time heals, but that’s bullshit. Time doesn’t heal; it
just builds distance. It stretches the pain out so it doesn’t
suffocate you all at once. But the echoes? They never fade.
Some days, I chase them. I replay old memories, trying to keep
them alive a little longer, terrified that one day, I’ll forget the exact
sound of their laughter or the way they looked when they weren’t
Create my version of this story
Through the Darkest Corridors
There’s a moment, right before everything falls apart, when you
almost sense it coming. A shift in the air. A silence too heavy. A
feeling in your gut that whispers, This is where it begins.
I’ve walked through many doors in my life—some I opened
willingly, some I was shoved through, and others collapsed
behind me, trapping me inside. But nothing prepares you for the
ones that lead into darkness. The ones where you can’t turn back,
only stumble forward, hoping there’s something—anything—
waiting on the other side.
Grief doesn’t come with instructions. Neither does betrayal. You
just wake up one day, and the world isn’t what it was yesterday.
Someone you love is gone. Someone you trusted isn’t who you
thought they were. Something inside you cracks, and you don’t
know if it will ever fully mend.
The first time I understood real loss, I wasn’t ready. No one ever
is. Death has a way of making everything else feel small, like a
wave that swallows the shore, erasing all the footprints that came
before it. I tried to hold on, tried to understand, but grief doesn’t
give you time to prepare. It drags you under, and suddenly, you’re
in the dark, feeling your way through corridors you never wanted
to walk.
And the worst part? No one can walk them for you.
I learned quickly that people don’t know what to say when you’re
drowning. Some offer empty words. Some disappear altogether.
And a rare few sit with you in the dark, even when they don’t
understand it themselves. But in the end, it’s just you and the
weight of it all, searching for a way through.
This is where my journey through hell began. Not with fire and
brimstone, but with silence. With absence. With a door that
closed and a road I never wanted to take.
But once you step into the darkness, there’s no going back. You
just keep moving, even when you can’t see where the hell you’re
headed.
Echoes of Those Who Left Too Soon
Grief doesn’t leave. It lingers. It clings to the walls of your mind,
whispering in the quiet moments, slipping into your dreams,
turning the most ordinary things into ghosts. A song. A scent. A
laugh you swore you heard, even though you know it’s impossible.
The dead don’t speak, but their absence is louder than any voice
I’ve ever known.
There are people who should still be here. People whose stories
weren’t supposed to end when they did. But life doesn’t give a
damn about what should be. It takes when it wants, without
reason, without warning, leaving you standing in the wreckage,
trying to make sense of something senseless.
I still hear them. Not in some supernatural way—no, nothing that
comforting. Just in the little things. The way a phrase escapes my
mouth, and I realize I sound just like them. The way I reach for my
phone before remembering there’s no one left to answer. The way
their name feels like broken glass in my throat when I try to say it
out loud.
People tell you time heals, but that’s bullshit. Time doesn’t heal; it
just builds distance. It stretches the pain out so it doesn’t
suffocate you all at once. But the echoes? They never fade.
Some days, I chase them. I replay old memories, trying to keep
them alive a little longer, terrified that one day, I’ll forget the exact
sound of their laughter or the way they looked when they weren’t
Savannah Monroe
introspective, and determined. After her brother's death and her best friend's betrayal, she struggles with grief and anger. She moves to a new town with her mother, seeking a fresh start. Despite feeling lost and alone, she finds solace in running and begins to rebuild her life by joining a new school's track team.
Landon Brooks
playful, and vulnerable.
Mason Brooks
protective, and conflicted. Despite his tough exterior, he struggles with the loss of his sister and the responsibility of caring for his younger brother. He becomes drawn to Savannah when she joins his school's track team and offers support during a difficult time.
There’s a moment, right before everything falls apart, when you almost sense it coming.
A shift in the air.
A silence too heavy.
A feeling in your gut that whispers, This is where it begins.
I’ve walked through many doors in my life—some I opened willingly, some I was shoved through, and others collapsed behind me, trapping me inside.
But nothing prepares you for the ones that lead into darkness.
The ones where you can’t turn back, only stumble forward, hoping there’s something—anything—waiting on the other side.
Grief doesn’t come with instructions.
Neither does betrayal.
You just wake up one day, and the world isn’t what it was yesterday.
Someone you love is gone.
Someone you trusted isn’t who you thought they were.
Something inside you cracks, and you don’t know if it will ever fully mend.
The first time I understood real loss, I wasn’t ready.
No one ever is.
Death has a way of making everything else feel small, like a wave that swallows the shore, erasing all the footprints that came before it.
I tried to hold on, tried to understand, but grief doesn’t give you time to prepare.
It drags you under, and suddenly, you’re in the dark, feeling your way through corridors you never wanted to walk.
And the worst part?
No one can walk those corridors for you.
I stand before the door, my heart pounding in sync with the ticking clock on the wall.
The hallway stretches out before me, empty except for the echo of my footsteps and the distant hum of fluorescent lights.
I whisper to myself, "This is where it begins," and push the door open.
Inside, the gymnasium unfolds like a vast expanse of possibility.
The rhythmic thumping of feet against polished wood fills the air, punctuated by the occasional shout or burst of laughter.
I scan the room, my eyes adjusting to the bright lights that seem to reverberate within my chest.
And then I see him—Mason, standing across the room, his gaze flicking toward me like a magnet drawn to steel.
For a moment, our eyes lock, a silent understanding passing between us.
Two souls bound by shared burdens and unspoken promises.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of expectation settle on my shoulders like a mantle.
"Mason," I call out, my voice barely rising above the din, "we need to talk."
He nods, his expression a mix of resolve and reluctance.
"I found the letter," he says quietly, his words slicing through the noise like a blade.
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Let’s go," I say, turning to leave the gymnasium.
The noise fades behind us as we step into the dimly lit corridor, the soft echo of our footsteps leading us down a path I hadn’t noticed before.
"Where did you find it?"
I ask, my voice steady despite the tension coiling within me.
Mason hesitates, glancing back at me with a mix of caution and determination.
"In the old storage room," he replies, gesturing toward a door at the end of the hallway.
We reach it, and he pushes it open, revealing dusty shelves and forgotten remnants of the past.
As we step inside, I sense we’re on the brink of something significant—something that will unravel secrets and reveal truths long hidden in the shadows.